


Wrestle Your Bones Over Mine

by arestlesswind



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Wizard Of Oz (1939)
Genre: F/M, what do you call a snippet from a fairy tale reconstruction that's pure fanfic for a tv show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-09
Updated: 2012-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-13 07:03:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arestlesswind/pseuds/arestlesswind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All she sees is green, until she stares down at her feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrestle Your Bones Over Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my partner-in-Ozian-crime Katla based on her prompt: “The Wizard and Dorothy having funtimes during an Emerald City parade (or incidentally not so fun).” They’re definitely not having fun. Titled from Bat for Lashes’s “The Wizard” cause hahaha I’m so punny. (But it fits, shush.)
> 
> Based off my premise and desperate desire for OUAT tackling Dorothy's story, but much, much deeper and darker and deliciously creepy than the show would ever do. Katla joined in, took it over, and it exploded into brilliance. Anna Torv is Dorothy and That Life-Ruining Hiddleston Dude is the Wizard, because.

All she sees is green. Upon all sides, encircling, trapping, suffocating, the distant castle behind and the twisting tempting torturing road beyond – _away._ Where she always returns; where she cannot go. Sometimes Dorothy forgets any other color, the muted absence of her gray Kansas home, the spectrum of light shards meeting water in the rainbow she sought – a child’s dream. There are no rainbows, no lullaby lands, only this nightmare of armor and orders and swords and blood and a false wizard, of slaughtered witches and ruby red shoes.

All she sees is green, until she stares down at her feet.

A dead woman’s shoes, too large at first for prepubescent girlish feet and now too tight, far too tight, pinching and blisters and dried crusted blood and the Wizard is the only one in the whole of the kingdom to have seen her barefoot, caught her in her bedchambers with broken toenails, an old dead woman’s shoes and a new dying woman’s shoes, and the Wizard sees, the Wizard knows, the Wizard bids her forth on another mission – murder – for the good of the realm, smiles when she dutifully forces the shoes on once more without a wince.

Glinda was the one to say, _These shoes belong to you, now; they will keep you safe._ On the list of names she curses, at night, the Good Witch of the East with her white ballgown and cherry-blossom hair is the second.

They have not spoken since the political upheaval of years ago, when even good witches were unwanted.

All she sees is green behind these damned emerald-tinted glasses, and the Wizard leans over in their horse-drawn carriage for two, bony shoulder pressing against the length of hers.

“I, too, find these parades tiresome,” he murmurs, “but you should at least muster the effort to smile.”

 _Smile, wave to the crowds, kill the disbelievers, kneel to him._ _Wear the shoes._ “I have nothing to smile about,” she says, deliberately keeping her voice low, but she could scream and no one would hear her above the celebratory cheers and blaring trumpets and death toll drums.

“Nothing?” The Wizard stretches out his hand. Taunting. Twisting the ever-salted wound. “Not even the beauty of our Emerald City?”

“It’s not beautiful. It’s hideous.” Harsh and brazen and piercing cold. “And it’s not mine.”

The Wizard laces a possessive arm around Dorothy’s waist, draws her to fit against his side. It would feel no sicker than if beneath her skin he plunged a hand and her organs he claimed. He smiles, broadly for the crowd, mouth hot on her ear as if exchanging sweet nothings. There will be yet more rumors, in the morning.

“You know what we must do,” he whispers. “Smile, dearest Dorothy. Give the people what they want. Make them happy.”

 _(Make_ me _happy._ )

Dorothy clenches her teeth, stitches her lips closed and up in a beaming sweep. Thinks, Kansas would be anything but gray to her now. She would fall to the golden ground and kiss it beneath an azure sky, and weep.


End file.
